Fledgling (39 page)

Monit Appletorn was not a fool; the tension in his face and shoulders was ample evidence that he understood the stakes. It remained only to see if he was ruled by fear, or by
melant'i
.

"I'll do it," Appletorn said, and nodded toward the nearest chair. "Pitch that stuff on the floor and tell me what you plan."

* * *

"Waitley?" a tall stout woman with a pink band around her left bicep shouted from the bottom of the ramp.

"Yes, ma'am." Theo went carefully down the ramp, pulling her case behind her.

"I'm Instructor Tathery. You're on my roster. Class is over for the day and you're a little late for supper. I'll show you to your room; the kitchen's already been told to send up a tray when you arrive." She looked over Theo's head.

"You'll be Professor Waitley?" she asked.

"Theo's mother," Kamele agreed coming off the end of the ramp to stand next to Theo. She held her hand out. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Instructor Tathery."

The bigger woman blinked, then took the offered hand, Kamele's fingers vanishing inside the large grasp. "A pleasure, Professor," she said gruffly.

"I don't mind talking while we walk," Kamele said, after her hand was returned and the other woman hadn't said anything else.

"Yes, well . . ." Instructor Tathery looked up the ramp, to where Gidis stood in the doorway of the bus.

"I'm not a Government Chaperon," the big woman finally produced. Kamele looked puzzled, but Theo suddenly understood.

"You can't go anywhere on Melchiza without a Chaperon," she said. "And if Gidis comes with us, then the rest of the team will be without a Chaperon."

Kamele sighed and shook her head. "I am not acclimated as yet," she said ruefully, and looked to the instructor. "I apologize for having placed you in an uncomfortable position and thank you for your patience. What I wish to say can certainly be said here, though I would have liked to see Theo's room and the learning areas."

"It is suggested, Professor Waitley," Gidis said from his position on the high ground, "that you speak quickly. The schedule—we must not fall behind."

"Maybe on your way back, ma'am," Instructor Tathery said, "you and the rest of your party would like a tour of the facilities."

"That would be very pleasant," Kamele said, keeping her eyes on the instructor's face; not even acknowledging Gidis by a glance. "I only wanted to explain—because I know custom varies from world to world—that, according to the custom of our homeworld, Delgado, Theo is yet a minor child, under the care of her mother. We wish to preserve our customs as nearly as possible while visiting Melchiza." She paused, but Instructor Tathery didn't say anything.

"If you will call me," Kamele said, "should there be any difficulty, or misunderstanding, and before any remediation is applied, that would satisfy our customs."

"I understand." There was a pause. "I'll do the best I'm able, Professor, as far as the customs of Melchiza allow."

Theo expected Kamele to argue, or press for a firmer agreement. Instead, her mother nodded gravely.

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate your care of my daughter."

"The schedule, Professor Waitley!" Gidis called from the top of the ramp.

He might as well have been on Delgado for all the attention Kamele gave him. She turned, opening her arms. Theo stepped into her hug, leaning her forehead against her mother's shoulder.

"You have everything?" Kamele asked quietly.

"Everything" in this case, Theo knew was more than her school book, her clothes and her ID. It also included the emergency backup ticket that she was to use without prejudice, as Professor Crowley had it, if she felt her safety was compromised. Theo was pretty sure that undertaking a starship voyage to a place she'd never heard of would compromise her safety more than anything she could imagine happening at school, but he and Kamele had looked so serious, she hadn't bothered to argue. The ticket was in the secure pouch hanging 'round her neck by its string.

"Yes ma'am," she said now, her nose filled with the scent of Kamele's hair, feeling her mother's arms around her, strong and firm. She raised her head and looked into serious blue eyes.

"Be
careful,
Kamele," she said impulsively.

Her mother smiled. "I will be as careful as I can and still pursue my duty," she said. Her arms tightened slightly and they exchanged one of their rare kisses before Kamele stepped back, ruffling Theo's hair, like she was a littlie.

"Learn well, Daughter!" she said, loud enough for Gidis to hear at the top of the ramp.

"Keep well, Mother," Theo answered. "I'll—see you soon."

"You'd better go," Instructor Tathery said, low voice. "It'll be points off for the driver and the Guide if they're late on the schedule."

"Professor Waitley!" Gidis sounded somewhere between angry and anxious.

"Coming," Kamele called, and ran lightly up the ramp.

Gidis stepped back to let her in, the door closed and Theo gulped, eyes stinging.

"All right, Theo Waitley," Instructor Tathery said. "Let's get you settled and some dinner in you. Tonight's study work will be on the comdeck. Breakfast at four bells, and a map of the school . . ."

* * *

"We are agreed, then?" Jen Sar Kiladi asked Monit Appletorn.

The long scholar leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his hair, staring at the ceiling. Finally, he sighed.

"We're agreed," he said, meeting Jen Sar's eyes. "When do you propose to move?"

"Tomorrow, if your schedule can accommodate me." Jen Sar said. "The weather is predicted to be very fine."

* * *

The Treasure House Hotel had provided them with a suite—four private rooms around a common parlor-and-kitchen combination. In Kamele's room, the single wide bed served to remind her that she was—alone. No daughter tucked into an alcove bed, or showering in the 'fresher. No lover leaning on his elbow under the sheets, watching her with a half-smile on his interesting, unbeautiful face. No one, in fact, to testify to her existence, should she suddenly vanish from this place.

She took a shower, trying to take pleasure in the luxurious soaps and lotions provided by the hotel. Alas, her depression was not so easily vanquished; rather than relaxing her, the shower seemed only to soften her resolve, so that all of her doubts ambushed her the moment she slipped into the bed and waved the room lights out.

What kind of mother was she, she asked herself, breath coming short against the heavy darkness, to leave her minor daughter in the care of strangers? How could she simply have turned her back and gotten back on the bus, not knowing the conditions of her child's welfare? A mother had her duties, and Theo—

Theo, she thought deliberately, had demonstrated an . . . astonishing level of self-sufficiency aboard the
Vashtara,
as befit a young woman who was soon to accept the responsibilities of adulthood.

But a mother's duty—

In the chill embrace of the wide bed, Kamele closed her eyes and took a deep breath—and another, keeping her attention focused on the mere act of breathing. An old lesson, this one, learned from her first singing instructor:
Breathe, and when your foolish panic has passed, affirm yourself!

Another breath, deep and calming. Another. Her muscles were warming now, and she could smell the subtle aroma of the bath lotion, clinging softly to her skin.

Another breath, and she was calm, drifting on the edge of wakefulness.

"I am," she whispered, "a scholar of Delgado."

Another breath, and she slipped over the edge, into sleep.

Melchiza
City of Treasures

The informational vids did nothing to prepare one for the reality of the Melchiza House of Treasures. While much of the building was of course underground; the above-ground portion dwarfed its festive and fragile attendant buildings, a hulking 'crete block, with neither finesse nor grace about it. It seemed, Kamele thought, to be daring the heavens to deliver the meteor strike that the Melchizan government insisted it would withstand.

And then, there were the doors. The outer doors were guarded by a dozen stern-faced individuals in blue coats, gold laces shining in the faintly rosette light of Melchiza's dawn; sidearms very obvious. The team was required to pass through a checkpoint, surrender their badges, state their names, their occupation and their planet of origin into the recorder, and submit to a retinal scan.

Badges returned, they were reunited with their Chaperon, who led them inside, across a forbidding metal lobby unsoftened by sculpture, tapestry, or other art, to an equally forbidding metal desk, behind which a woman in yet another of the ornate blue-and-gold coats awaited them, frown in place.

She took their badges, scanned and returned them before asking their business.

"We are here at the invitation of Professor Dochayn to do a literature comparison of the Beltaire Collection," Kamele said, keeping her voice smooth and pleasant. Beside her, she felt Chair Hafley stiffen slightly, but if she was offended by Kamele overstepping herself, she did not choose to pursue the matter.

"I have your names on my roster," the security woman said crisply; "and your badges are in order. Your Chaperon may guide you to the next station."

Well
, Kamele thought,
that wasn't difficult at all, really
.

"Thank you," she said, but the woman had apparently already forgotten them, her eyes returning to the bright bank of busy instruments at her right hand.

Kamele gathered Gidis with a glance, and he skittered ahead of them, clutching his notebook, staring down into its screen with such concentration that Kamele feared he would trip and do himself an injury. Of course, there was nothing to trip over—there were no uneven tiles, or unruly rug-fringe marring the metal floor—though they were approaching a door with the inevitable blue-coated individual standing before it.

Once again, they surrendered their badges, saw them scanned and received them back. The security man opened the door and Gidis dashed across the threshold, the forensic team following at a slightly more sedate pace, careful of their footing on the metal surface.

They had been admitted to an antechamber, where a blue-coated security person sat behind a desk, quietly observing his bank of instruments. He scanned their badges and gave his permission for them to proceed.

* * *

There were two dozen kids in Class TS3N, slightly more boys than girls, and ages ranging from Monti, two Standard Years Theo's junior, to Yzel, three Standard Years older.

Instructor Tathery was the teacher for the class, which was . . . odd. Who could be an expert in all subjects? Still, Theo thought, it would be interesting to see how it went. She sat down at the desk with her name on it, and touched the keypad to wake up the computer.

Yzel acted as teacher's aide, wandering the room while the class did a math warm-up, and answering questions. He was good, Theo thought, patient and quiet. He paused behind her chair while she was working out a particularly cumbersome word problem, but he didn't intervene or offer to help. When she found the derive, he moved off, soft-footed, and she felt like she'd been given approval.

After math was culture. Everybody sat in a circle and told the group about an important holiday on their homeworld. Theo talked about Founder's Day, which was pretty tame compared to Monti's Sun Fete, and downright boring put against Ave-Su's Loki's Night.

Culture moved seamlessly into history, Instructor Tathery leading a discussion of political alliance.

"Political alliance is expediency, ma'am," Yzel argued. "It would be better to cultivate an ignorance of history in the cause of choosing allies."

"Not only that, history lies!" the boy with black and gold striped hair called, speaking out of rotation.

Instructor Tathery didn't reprimand him, or give him a down. She just waved a broad hand at him, in an almost casual invitation to continue.

"How does history lie, Dalin?"

"The—the, Yzel was talking about expediency. It's expedient for the history-makers on some planets to write untrue things down and file them in their libraries, in order to block competition or to serve old grudges. It's coward's warfare, my First-Father says, and those who traffic in lies ought to be held to a warrior's accounting!"

"But," Theo protested, "on Delgado, scholars research events. If there hasn't been any research done—or, if the research that has been done is suspect for some reason, a scholar will travel to the place, talk to the people who were there—primary sources, they're called—to find out the facts of the event, as well as the causes, and write an impartial account, so that everyone is informed. Then, if two former enemies want to pursue an alliance—like Yzel says, of expediency—they have the facts of the last matter before them, to learn from, so they don't make the same mistakes again."

"Oh, really? My First-Father says that—"

"This is a very interesting discussion," Instructor Tathery broke in. "Rather than try to compress it into the time we have left for history, let's plan on using our open period tomorrow for an in-depth exploration. I want each of you to come prepared with an argument for or against the manipulation of history, with examples. Now, everybody up! It's time to move around, people!"

* * *

They had begun their pilgrimage at dawn. It was now past lunchtime, as they were passed through another metal door, and stepped into yet another antechamber with a desk, the inevitable blue-coated security person, and another; a woman wearing a red coat, a pale blue knot nattily adorning her buttonhole, who leapt to her feet as the team crossed the threshold and bustled forward.

"You must be the Delgadan Search Team!" she said, bringing her hands together briskly in what she may have thought was the open book salute. "I am Jeyanzi Pikelmin, Third Director of the Treasure House. The Beltaire Collection falls under my administration."

"Thank goodness!" Hafley cried, stepping forward. "I don't hide from you, Director, that I am exhausted! We have been walking for
hours
! If there could be someplace for me—for us—to sit down and perhaps have a bit of lunch, that would be most welcome!"